Prologue: Night monsters
Trigger warnings for this chapter: graphic depictions of violence, disturbing imagery
Sunday 7th January, 2001 - 2 am.
It was a very cold night. Thaddeus gripped the pants of his cloak tighter against himself, trying to warm himself up as best as he could. As he exhaled loudly, his breath came out in a silvery steam before disappearing. His lips were chapped, and he could feel the cracks on them that would probably end up bleeding.
He found himself thinking wistfully of the warm bed in which his wife was waiting for him at home. Images of himself with his head going deep into his soft pillow, pulling back his fluffy blankets over his body, and kissing Magdalene goodnight before going to sleep with a contented smile on his face flooded his mind. He fidgeted, feeling irritation slowly rising inside him. How long would he have to wait?
Magdalene was certainly trying to fight off sleep until he came back, though she was most likely too groggy to last long – Calder, who had turned three in November, was in his oppositional phase and was exhausting them both. Thaddeus had been in the Auror Task Force for more than twenty years, and Magdalene had been his wife for well over fifteen years now, but she still worried almost as much as she did back when they started dating.
She worried even more those days considering what had been happening lately. Eight wizards and witches had vanished in the last month and a half in mysterious circumstances; two of them had ended up dead, their corpses dropped in random places all over the United Kingdom. And to top it off, all of the missing people had either been muggleborn or half-blood, something that the media had been quick to point out.
Of course, worried whispers had emerged ever since Fidvi Khokhar, the second victim, had disappeared, and those whispers had grown louder and louder every time another person had gone missing. A collective shiver had taken over the wizarding community, that was paralyzed with fear at the idea that somehow, You-Know-Who had managed to come back from the dead yet again.
About two weeks earlier, when Conri Hartnett's body had been found five hundred miles away from the place he had last been seen, stupor had seized Aurors and civils alike. Of course, everyone had felt very sorry for his family, though nobody had ever doubted that the former Unspeakable had been killed - there was even a strange relief that had gone hand in hand with the discovery of the corpse, since victims of Death Eater who had disappeared were very rarely found.
Yet, despite this small relief, horror and fright had quickly made their way into everybody's hearts at the knowledge that Hartnett's body had been experimented upon. Thaddeus had not seen the body himself, and photographs of the corpse had been forbidden despite outcries from scoops-hungry journalists, but he had heard other Aurors shiver while recounting the tale in the common room.
The picture those Aurors had painted was the kind that you only saw in the most terrible nightmares. Hartnett's fingers, hands, arms, legs and foot had apparently disappeared, replaced instead with translucid tentacles reminiscent of a jellyfish. Meanwhile, his head had taken up a more cubic-shaped form, while his hair had completely fallen off. Furthermore, the rest of his body had been covered with a bad rash. The Aurors who were at the crime scene had said you could barely make out the place the human body ended and the jellyfish started, as if the two were one and the same.
Really Thaddeus couldn't imagine much more terrible fate. The Auror department had not even allowed Hartnett's family to see the body, let alone get it back for a proper funeral. As of now the scientific team was still trying to figure out what had happened to Hartnett exactly. So far the only things they were sure about were that the kind of jellyfish Hartnett had been merged with was a species of the family Oceaniidae, and that dark magic had been involved in the twisted process of Transfiguration.
Two days after Hartnett, another body had been found in Cardiff. This one, too, had been awfully disfigured. After a bit of investigation, it had turned out to be Donovan Kovalenko, a British Ukrainian citizen who had worked as a secretary in the Ukrainian embassy until his disappearance, and the last person to have disappeared.
Unlike Bartnett, he had not been blended with a jellyfish, but with a bowhead whale. His face had been completely unrecognizable, and it was only because of a very specific birthmark that the scientific team had been able to identify the body.
Just like with Bartnett, Kovalenko's transfigured corpse had been found very far away from the place he had last been seen, since the Ukrainian embassy was based in London. What was more, he had also been found in a completely different region than Bartnett, whose body had been discovered in a little town in Scotland, Tobermory.
All in all, Thaddeus thought with a shudder, there was something really dark going on, but no one could tell whether this was the work of a serial killer, of Pureblood fanatics, of a human trafficking ring, or something else entirely.
Thaddeus didn't think Magdalene had any reason to fret today, though. If the situation he'd been required to deal with had been dangerous, he wouldn't be hanging around waiting for the Hit wizard on duty to come and let him know what was going on. It was probably some kind of drunk wizard who'd destroyed public property thinking Trolls were attacking him. Two months ago he'd arrested a man who had been bothering a neighbourhood in London, believing himself to be Celestina Warbeck. The fella had sung all night with a croaky falsetto voice that seemed immune to the most powerful Silencios.
Merlin, he hated being the reserve Auror at night, but he needed the extra money.
Just as his mind was going to go down a rather dark route he was nonetheless accustomed to, he noticed a familiar figure coming right toward him, looking grim. He couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in surprise.
"Harvey?" he asked as they showed each other their Auror badges and checked each other's identity. "What're you doing here?"
"Nasty business, Thaddeus", Harvey replied sombrely, shaking his head, while Thaddeus followed him. "A young witch who was on her way home after a party stumbled upon the body of Lucinda Backstreet. Lynn's team is already on the crime scene."
Immediately, Thaddeus felt his shoulders slump, and his heart constricted. It was going to be a long night. Magdalene's eyes would give up the fight against sleep well before he would be able to go home, and the first thing he would do when he did go back to his house wouldn't be to kiss his children or wife but take a huge glass of Firewhisky.
Lucinda Backstreet was one of the eight people who had disappeared in the last weeks. A young girl from Bristol, enthusiastic and passionate about the protection of magical animals. One day she had left her home to go to the weekly meeting of her club dedicated to the defense of the rights of magical creatures, and then nobody had ever seen her again. Her disappearance had really caused a stir nationwide. Not only was she the youngest victim, but her father, Cyneric Backstreet, was a well-known businessman who had made a fortune selling transportable strongboxes that were charmed to repel most common spells.
Walking toward her corpse reminded Thaddeus as to why some days he thought that he should find another job.
Neither Harvey nor he were speaking, and the only sounds that could be heard were that of their boots on gravel. After a few minutes spent in silence, they finally approached the crime scene. Thaddeus noticed that a few members of the scientific team were already there, looking for evidence and preparing the body for transport, including the Team Leader of the scientific team herself, Auror Lynn Oliver. Thaddeus gave a nod in her direction, which she answered grimly.
Thaddeus looked around for familiar faces, and he saw Monica and Griffiths acknowledge his presence with a small wave, though they quickly got back to what they were doing, both of their faces incredibly serious.
When Thaddeus finally laid eyes on Lucinda's body, he felt himself repress a gag and he had to quickly avert his eyes. The young girl was spread out on the pavement, her face turned toward the starry night. Her expression would give Thaddeus nightmares for months. Her mouth was contorted in pain, her cheeks were tear-stained, and her glassy eyes were wide open in terror, telling a story of terrible suffering.
Though her face and chest had remained human, her stretched-out arms had been turned into something else, just like the previous victims. This time, as far as Thaddeus could tell, the monsters responsible for the murders had tried to turn Lucinda into some sort of part-Phoenix creature. While the shape of her arms was visible, they had been saddled with very big wings, covered in those unmistakable red feathers typical of Phoenixes. Some of them had seemingly burnt, as they had turned black and were emitting a dark smoke that Thaddeus instinctively backed away from.
Lucinda's hands were still present, but her fingers had elongated, and were contracted, as if she had had a seizure. Her legs, too, had been partially Transfigured. Thaddeus could see feathers coming out from under her pants, that had clearly been buttoned up hastily, and her feet had been turned into sharp talons, onto which no shoe could be put, though her shoes had still been put beside her body.
"I can't believe I'll have to be the one who'll tell Cyneric Backstreet that his daughter is dead, and that her death was clearly not a quick, painless one", sighed Harvey next to Thaddeus.
"Is that why you arrived at the crime scene before me?" Thaddeus asked, his voice laced with sympathy as he looked up at Harvey. "The emergency code for the missing persons' case?"
"Yeah, I was the one from my squad on duty tonight", Harvey replied, his breath turning into vapor as he exhaled. "The witness fortunately remembered it, and I received the signal thirty minutes ago. Right now Gallaway is taking her deposition."
Harvey jutted his chin toward a young woman, who couldn't be older than twenty-five and was in a clear state of great agitation. She was standing a few feet away from the crime scene, and was talking to a black-haired Auror in uniform that Thaddeus had only met a few times.
Thaddeus crouched down to look at Lucinda. He could not imagine the horrors she must have been through, and he shuddered as he thought of her father, who had openly wept in the Aurors' Office when he had been told there were few chances that Lucinda was alive after the first two bodies had been found.
As a father himself, Thaddeus could barely bear to think about that happening to his own children. Lucinda's face was so youthful that it was just plain wrong to imagine her doing anything other than laughing with her friends, complaining that she had too much homework, or giving animated speeches about endangered species.
Feeling dejected, Thaddeus turned his face toward Harvey and declared quietly: "Poor girl. She wasn't even seventeen."
He was stuck on a chair in the tent and felt dirty. He looked down at his hands. He had been so sure he had cleaned them several times before, yet they looked filthy, dusty - all those adjectives finishing with a - y that applied to him because he was such a terrible person.
"Nothing will ever wipe your hands off your betrayal. It's too late. But has there been a time when you were at their level? Has there ever been a time when you were worth their brightness? No, and you know it. You're a dark creature, Ron Weasley, with even darker and hideous thoughts. I have seen your heart, and it is black. You have tried to keep your jealousy and your mediocrity hidden, you have tried to ignore the calls of your inner nature, but hear me out - you have failed."
"Do you see them? They are outside, in the sun, in the light. They shine very brightly, don't they, Ron? Their skins glow, their eyes sparkle, their smiles warm up everything around them. Do you see how much happier the world seems to be with them in it? Birds sing again, flowers are blooming, and Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are the stars the sky was waiting for."
"You are in the dark, and you will remain in the dark. You are seated in dust because you are nothing more than dust yourself. Actually, to be perfectly honest, your surroundings were welcoming and comfortable until you showed up and sat down in this chair. Crazy how you spoil everything around you. See, here, the tissue the tent is made of is quickly falling into pieces. Your mere presence is enough to destroy what is around you... Unless the objects you are surrounded by somehow feel how evil you are, and they'd rather turn to dust than stay with you any longer. Choose which hypothesis you prefer."
"Aaaah, they're coming your way. I will never understand why they decided to keep you with them, despite your darkness. But I will never understand real kindness either, so I will drop the subject. It was your redemption, Ronald. They were your redemption. You could have atoned for your sins. You could have let them crush you so they would climb higher and finally reach the sky where they belong. You could have done something useful for a change. Yet you spoiled your only opportunity. You spoiled everything, as usual."
"Now you're not even worthy enough to be a footboard for them to climb. You are just dust on their shoes. Dust, dust, dust. They will be so happy to wipe this dirt off their shoes. Even coming near you dampens their spirits. Their smiles are less warm, their eyes are less bright, their skins a lot paler. So are you going to spoil them, Ronald, like you did with the tent, or will they finally beat you and turn you into dust? Given how furious they look, I bet it's the latter."
He felt cold. Harry and Hermione were looking at him with a freezing glare and a scornful snarl at their lips. He shivered. And swallowed. He knew he had fucked everything up. He knew he deserved their anger and more. He just didn't want them to be upset over this, over him and his stupidity. And if he was honest with himself, it was also terrifying to be on the receiving end of their hatred.
"Listen", he choked, "I-I can't say how sorry I am, because no word will ever be enough. I am also...I am also so happy that you accepted to take me back to help you. I promise I won't be a bother. Don't mind me. I'll just do what you need me to do and disappear from your lives forever after if-if that's what you want. Please don't throw me out !"
But Harry and Hermione were not listening to him. Their freezing glare had turned into a flaming and scalding hot look and they were burning him. He was very hot. He was sweating. He felt drops falling on his face. The locket was weighing on his chest. It was so heavy. It hurt. He felt like he was melting.
He looked down at his hands again. He was actually melting. The skin of his fingers was going brown and was softening; small drops began to fall on the floor of the tent. Ploc, Ploc. They were forming a puddle and it looked like mud. In fact, he was sure it was mud. He wanted to yell, but he couldn't. His face was already melting, joining the puddle on the floor.
Ron woke up with a start and sat up, gasping for air. It had been a nightmare. Just a fucking nightmare. He ran a hand across his face, shivering from head to toe, and felt wetness on his cheeks. Fuck it, he had once again been crying in his sleep. It was the fourth time in seven days. Even as a child Ron hadn't been that much of a wuss, even though George liked to remind him that he'd kept taking refuge into one of his brothers' beds (or Ginny's) whenever he was scared, and that until he was eight.
It wouldn't matter as much if he had been crying for anything else. Not that he preferred the other nightmares, mind you, but he just felt pathetic for turning into a sobbing mess all because he'd been too weak to resist an effing necklace. Harry was particularly affected by Dementors. Nothing less than Bellatrix Lestrange could make Hermione truly terrified. Ginny, who had been possessed by a diary, didn't flinch at the mere presence of a book.
But him ? Ron could already imagine George making grand gestures wherever he went: "Alas, my dear Sirs, gentlemen, thou shall make place for the delicate Ronniekins in his worn-out PJs, for he fainted when the dreaded locket came into his dainty view. Please bring the smelling salts while we're fanning his pasty white and freckled face and he's letting out little whines of distress. He's the king of wimps, thou see, and he can't bear the sight of lockets, less he be crying like a famished baby !"
Yeah. George'd be the kind of asshole who'd offer him a pacifier if he knew what kind of nightmares was making Ron cry in his sleep.
Ron looked down at his hands, the real ones this time. Goddammit, they were still shaking. Bloody frickity freakering fuck, he thought as he closed his eyes in frustration, why did he have no control over his own body? Why did he have to act like he was a ninety-something-old buffer who needed help to take a piss?
Why did he have to ask himself stupid questions that nobody would answer?
Even though the bedroom was completely silent at this hour of the night, Ron could still hear his heart thumping madly in his ears, and despite himself he couldn't help but feel like the locket was still whistling behind him, making his skin crawl. Sweat was running down his back and had already soaked his armpits, and yet for some reason he was cold, goosebumps erupting all over his flesh.
And he still had this impression of someone hissing near him, and the room was closing on him, and his pyjama top was glued to his skin, and he didn't like the way the sheets were trapping his legs, preventing him from moving... Unable to bear the situation any longer and feeling like he was suffocating, Ron yanked the sheets off his part of the bed and got up quickly, before pulling his sticky pyjama top over his head and throwing it on the ground.
He took his wand and started walking toward the door, though he couldn't help himself and stopped to throw a glance at Hermione once he was in the doorframe. She was sleeping peacefully, her wild brown curls framing her head like some kind of fairy tale princess. The moonlight was lighting up her beautiful face, and she had a contented smile that almost made him want to go back to bed to kiss it.
Leaving the bedroom, Ron crossed the corridor and went into the small kitchen of the flat, and immediately put water into the kettle to make himself tea. He cast a heating charm on the kettle, took his favourite mug, and put a teabag in it. Waiting for the water to boil, he put his outstretched arms on the counter and sighed, his head lowered toward the sink.
It was the third time in a week that he'd had a nightmare about the locket. It wasn't surprising per say, because it was January and it was always around this time of the year that Ron had the most vivid nightmares in regard to the locket, but it still sucked. Especially because it'd been three years already, and some part of Ron had - foolishly - hoped that the nightmares and his locket-related terror would have subsided by now.
But nope, he mused as he stared at the happy light brown dog on the mug running around and chasing a butterfly. He still had dreams in which he could feel the heavy weight of the locket on his chest, preventing him from breathing. In which he was trapped in an endless stream of dark thoughts echoed by the locket's whispers, reminding him of all the times he had felt worthless. In which he kept leaving the tent as Harry's scornful stares and Hermione's cries followed him even after he woke up.
At the same time, he knew the nightmares were the last thing he deserved for ever having walked out on Harry and Hermione. He'd never been good enough for them in the first place, but deserting them when they needed him most was irredeemable, something that the locket, whether it be through his nightmares or flashes, kept reminding him of.
At this moment a whistling sound made Ron's heart do a somersault before he realized that it was only the kettle boiling. He poured the hot water into his mug, added two and a half sugar cubes to his drink, steeped the teabags in the water, and as he adopted the same waiting position as before his thoughts went back to the place he had among his two best friends.
He was thankful Harry and Hermione still wanted him in their lives, and somehow he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, when they'd wake up and realize he'd been nothing but a cock-up all this time. Truth be told, part of Ron had to pinch himself every morning when he was reminded that Hermione wanted to be with him, of all people, and that he got to be an Auror Trainee with Harry, who still thought Ron had his back.
So he'd keep trying to enjoy every moment while it lasted. It was not always easy, because every little thing seemed to remind him of a memory in which he'd fucked up or that showed how insignificant he was. Yet Ron had learned to cast the memories aside in order to focus on more important things, like his family, Harry, Hermione, his other friends, or his studies. The hardest part in all this was to not let his useless feelings get in the way of things.
Ron could say with some pride that he'd grown way better at dismissing his gross feelings of jealousy and insecurity compared to when he was a teenager. Sure, sometimes he slipped up because he was still a moron, he pondered as he turned a spoon inside his mug. But all in all, so far he had managed to keep his selfish desires in check - mostly.
He kept making efforts to show others, and more particularly Harry and Hermione, that he had changed. For that he needed to make sure they didn't notice he still had the same old feelings, or at least he needed to let them know that those feelings would never be a burden to them again. Of course sometimes they couldn't help but notice a few things, like this time Ron had casually let slip that he thought Hermione often favoured Harry over him and it had ended up in a huge row with Hermione as she yelled he was just being a possessive jealous sod trying to stifle her. Or this time he had jokingly told Harry he was Mum's favourite and Harry, disturbed, had replied that however important Mrs. Weasley was in his life, she was not his mother. Harry had been weird for days after that, all because of Ron, his stupid mouth and his stupid brain.
That was the reason why he made sure no one knew the extent of the mess he had in his head. While he had never been a great liar, he tried not to be too specific if someone asked him what was wrong, he tried to take their attention away from whatever face he was making, he tried to dismiss his reactions whenever they were related to this pathetic sticky, stinky magma of insecurity inside him.
And it was somewhat working, but for how long would it last?
Right as his mood was turning as bitter as the tea he had brewed, considering he had let the teabag steep for more than ten minutes, he heard footsteps coming in his direction. He didn't bother to take his wand or even turn around. Ron would recognize Hermione's light but determined steps anywhere.
She entered the kitchen and stopped in the hallway for a few seconds, before walking toward him and enveloping him from behind. Even though she had wrapped a warm nightgown around her, her hands were still cold on his chest. Yet he didn't mind. The contact of her skin on his, the touch of her curls and cheek on his back made everything better, and despite himself he closed his eyes for a brief instant, savouring the moment.
"A nightmare again ?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yeah..." Ron admitted with a sigh. "I didn't want to wake you up, but I needed to get up."
"It's okay", Hermione replied in a reassuring tone. "But I'm starting to get worried. You've had many nightmares in the last three weeks and haven't been able to sleep properly even though you have exams coming up. Perhaps you should see a healer to get a Sleeping potion ?" she added anxiously.
"Not until I really have to", he retorted firmly. "We've already had far too many problems with Sleeping potions, I don't want to risk it. Besides, I'd have to tell the Auror Academy's specialist Healer about it and I'd like to avoid it if I can."
"I know", Hermione sighed. "I'm just worried about you. You always seem to get so stressed out before your exams at the Auror Academy, even worse than I've ever been at Hogwarts. I wished you would stop doubting yourself so much."
Ron did not reply, but he squeezed Hermione's hands that were still clasped on his chest, right next to his heart. It was strange how the people around him seemed to know him so well while at the same time not knowing anything about the exact reasons that were making him upset.
"What can I say ?" He finally acknowledged after a few moments of silence, though he hoped his tone appeared casual. "You can't change old habits with a wave of your wand. I guess it's hard for me to think I won't fuck up somewhere. But you shouldn't worry about me", he added gently. Go back to sleep."
"I woke up because you were not beside me in the bed, I'm not going back in there without you", she retorted assertively.
"I'm gonna lose the debate if I try to argue, won't I ?" Ron snorted.
"Of course you would lose, I'm more stubborn than you", she said confidently, and Ron could feel that she was sporting a small smile.
"Even if that were true, which remains to be seen, that's nothing to boast about, Miss Granger", he tutted in a fake formal voice. "I've been told that I'm more stubborn than a brooding mule having been raised by Harry, so imagine what could be worse than that... Apart from Harry himself, of course."
Ron felt Hermione shake behind him as she laughed heartily. He could not help but feel a surge of pride at having made her laugh after having made her worry for no good reason. Being able to make Hermione laugh as much as possible was one of his goals in life, and the sound of her laughter was one of the things he cherished most.
"I love you", she said fondly, as if it was the only logical answer to his antics.
At that, Ron turned around, and it was his turn to envelop Hermione in his arms, her smaller body fitting perfectly with his own. He kissed the top of her head, her brown curls tickling his face, before putting his chin on top of the mass of her unruly hair.
"I love you too", he whispered, and he hoped she could not detect how emotional he was.
He was glad that she could not see his face in the dark kitchen that was only lit up by the moonbeams that went through the main window. If she had, she would have seen in his eyes, of which Hermione always said they could never lie, the one thing that kept playing on a loop in his head but that was stuck in his throat.
I don't deserve you.